


You Like the Taste of Danger

by justalittlegreen



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Sex, Annoyed Eddie Kaspbrak, Bottom Richie Tozier, Desperate Richie Tozier, Fucking, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Humiliation, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Thanksgiving, Top Eddie Kaspbrak/Bottom Richie Tozier, disgust, kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27686548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: Eddie's trying to make Thanksgiving dinner. Richie's getting in the way.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 121





	You Like the Taste of Danger

"Are you seriously hard right now?" Eddie's tone isn't the exasperated, frantic, four-hours-til-Thanksgiving-for-eight shriek Riche's expecting. It's...calmer. Like it doesn't bother him in the slightest that Richie's grinding against his ass and pushing him into the counter.

If anything, he sounds a little disgusted at the idea, a flicker that flares when he adds, "You're an insatiable fucking horndog with no sense of anything past the end of your dick."

Richie, for his part, would happily fuck a bowl of mashed potatoes in front of Eddie if it meant Eddie kept talking to him like he didn't expect anything better.

Eddie sighs and rolls his eyes in exasperation. Richie's cock twitches at the sound. Eddie looks down at Richie, kneeling on the ergonomic gel kitchen mat Eddie insisted on getting six months ago, his cock out of his pants with a painful-looking erection.

"I suppose," Eddie says, his tone making it clear that this is an intensely inconvenient situation for him. "If you can't do fucking anything useful like this, we might as well get this over with." He gestures to his pants and Richie nearly tears his belt in half getting it off. Eddie's maybe a liiiiittle hard from the last half hour of Richie panting desperately for attention, but a few moments in Richie's warm, perfect, made-to-suck-cock mouth stir his impatience.

"Get up." Richie stands, and Eddie shoves him toward the counter, kicking the stepstool towards him. Riche lets out a groan that's barely human and bends over the empty stretch of granite. Eddie steps up - if Richie makes fun of him right now, he'll actually kill him - and yanks Richie's pants over his hips.

"You little..." he breathes. "You're fucking sick, you know that?" Beneath him, Richie whimpers, thrusting his hips against empty air. "You've been leaking lube from your ass this whole fucking time like some kind of - of - desperate - "

"You can say 'whore,' Eds," Richie cuts in dryly.

Eddie reaches forward and gets a solid grip on Richie's hair and yanks. "What was that?" he asks. "I don't remember giving you permission to talk." He lets go with a shove, Richie's head hanging between his arms. Eddie lines up his cock and teases Richie's hole, savoring the desperate, muffled cries it earns him, the way Richie's cock drips shamelessly on the floor. He'll make him clean it up later.

"Don't even deserve to be fucked," Eddie mutters. "Useless fucking distraction, getting in my way. You'd get on the fucking table and beg for it, wouldn't you? If I don't fuck you right now, you're going to embarrass me in front of all our friends. Aren't you?" he demands. Richie shudders, and Eddie can imagine the blush breaking over his chest. He eyes Richie's ass and aims a slap at the side with fewer bruises. "Fucking answer me."

Richie mutters something he can't hear. Eddie smacks the other side this time, bruises be damned. Richie winces and rasps, "You know I would."

Eddie knows Richie's prepped himself well enough to go fast, the way he likes it, and for some reason, that just irritates him further. "You knew this was coming," he fumes, rocking his hips against Richie's ass as Richie gasps. "You're so stretched you're fucking sloppy, Tozier. How dare you decide you're more important than perfectly moist turkey?"

The words, "moist kills my boner," are halfway to Richie's lips when he realizes they, are, in fact, an outright lie. Eddie does something to shift his hips, maybe get halfway up on his toes, and suddenly, his cock hits Richie in the spot that makes him feel like he's being sparked.

"Fuck," Richie sobs into his hands. "Please."

"Please nothing," Eddie snaps. "The only reason you're getting this is so you'll be drained enough to keep your horny ass to yourself while I finish."

"Should probably invest in some kind of machine to take care of you," he continues, breath catching as he picks up the pace, but not yet impeding his rant. "Something we can fucking MOUNT YOU ON in the corner of the kitchen where you can stay out of my way."

As he finishes the sentence, Richie breaks, his voice hitching, hips stuttering as he comes, untouched, all over the the floor.

"There," Eddie grunts. He can feel his own orgasm on the horizon and chases it, wanting the peace that follows. "Now will you just - chill - the -fuck- out?" Richie's weeping at the words, not in a way that makes Eddie want to stop - it's certainly a regular enough occurrence - but in a way that makes him want to give Richie something to cry about. Then again, he kind of already did.

Richie dissolves into a mess of, "Fuckfuckfuckfuck - please - fill me up - please, fuck," that pushes Eddie over the edge, gasping as he hunches over Richie's bent back, furry and sweat-slicked. In the moment that follows, he wraps his arms as far as he can around Richie's chest before he pulls out, swallowing the bile that always threatens to rise in his throat in moments like this. Richie knows, though. As soon as Eddie's pulled free, Richie hikes his shorts and pants up, grabs a clean towel, dampens it at the sink and whirls around in one smooth motion to start cleaning Eddie up. Eddie relaxes into a grin.

"You know me so well."

"Takes one to know one."

"Obsessive-compulsive?"

"Loser."

Eddie's cheeks warm with affection as Richie gently tucks him back into his pants, stuffs the towel into his own back pocket and washes his hands, whistling. Eddie watches him, still a little dazed. Richie shakes his wet hands in Eddie's direction. He hates it, but the water on his face does a lot to bring him back.  
  
"You okay?" Richie asks like it's no big deal, like Eddie being okay matters to him. He's asked a thousand times, and Eddie still hasn't gotten over the mortifying ordeal of being trusted to know for himself whether he's okay.  
  
"Yeah," he says, hip-checking Richie out of the way of the sink. "You?"  
  
Richie leans against the counter and gives him a slow, dreamlike smile. "I'm goooooood. I'm so good. I just got stuffed - "  
  
" - if that sentence ends in the word turkey, I swear to fucking Jesus, Rich, - "  
  
"I wasn't going to, but now that you've planted the idea in my head..."  
  
Eddie glares at him, sizing him up. "You sure?" he asks softly.  
  
Richie nods, serious this time. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."  
  
"Excellent. Now get the fuck out of my kitchen."

Eddie looks down at his hands and scrubs. He's got three and a half hours to finish this meal, and that doesn't include the time Richie will need to get all the puns about stuffing out of his system.


End file.
